


Your Whip Cracking (This Could Be Painful)

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dubious Consent, M/M, Size Difference, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4691606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson Fisk demands respect, even from his enemies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Whip Cracking (This Could Be Painful)

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the kinkmeme: 
> 
> "Fisk holding Daredevil over his lap, spanking him, completely random and with no prior sexy times between them. 
> 
> All of a sudden Matt's bent over and getting the hardest spanking of his life (and that's saying something, considering he grew up around nuns), and can't get loose. those big hands rubbing over matt's ass cheek after a few vicious strikes in a row, squeezing for a second before starting in on the other cheek. gripping his waist so hard it leaves bruises because matt starts trying to rub off on his thigh but he fisk keeps moving him out of position, and keeps spanking him until he comes in his pants and has to parkour home with a big cum stain on his crotch and down his legs."
> 
> I wrote this on my phone in bits and pieces over a week so it's not really the greatest thing I've ever done, lol. Thanks to r3zuri for editing.

Fisk had Matt by back of the neck, and even through the armor he he could feel the pressure like a vice. 

The room they were in was small- it had been an office space slated for renovation, before Fisk had been arrested and all construction had ground to a halt. He could smell the lingering scent of squatters and their garbage left behind, but recently removed- Fisk had taken control of the building back, somehow, and that's why Matt had gone snooping, after noticing Fisk coming and going. 

Failing to anticipate that Fisk would notice Matt coming and going was what landed him in his current predicament.

Matt twisted, in an attempt to throw his feet up against the wall, hoping to gain enough leverage to push back against him - he couldn't let Fisk pin him; once he did, it was all over - but before he could, Matt was being picked up completely and pulled away from the wall.

Fisk just seemed content to hold him as he struggled, shifting his grip to get one meaty arm around Matt's neck from behind to constrict Matt’s throat. Matt kicked out into empty air, desperately trying to throw Fisk off balance, but it was no use. He tried to gasp, his gloved hands scrabbling uselessly at Fisk's arm- but he couldn't-

Matt wasn't sure how much time had passed. It wasn't right to say he woke up- but it was a sudden thing, he found himself panting as his senses began to filter back, one by one. There was a rushing in his ears, drowning out all sounds, but he could still smell Fisk's sweat, and it was everywhere, the scent clinging to him and making it difficult to distinguish anything else.

He couldn't tell if he was standing or not, as disoriented as he was, but he could still feel the arm around his neck, loosened enough to let him breath. Then, a vibration against his back- Fisk was saying something, but he couldn't make it out. He gasped in a few more lungfuls of air and tried to focus. 

"Are you back with me?" Fisk asked, and the bastard wasn't even winded. He didn't seem to require a response, because he continued. "I've had, a lot of time to think lately, thanks to you. When I was in prison, I would spend time imagining exactly how I would kill you. Going over the mistakes I made- how to do things right this time." 

He paused, as though lost in thought, but his grip didn't loosen. Matt drew in a breath, anticipating Fisk's next move, but- nothing. Fisk just held him immobile. Matt raised his hands up to pull against Fisk's wrist again, but Matt still felt weak and the grip was unforgiving. Fisk allowed him to struggle, and Matt knew he was just waiting for him to wear himself out. 

"My mistake was- believing that my intentions were for the greater good," Fisk mused, and the absurdity of the statement brought Matt to a standstill. 

"You-" Matt started, but his throat was raw. He coughed, unable to continue.

"Yes," Fisk said. "I thought I was actually doing the city a favor. I had- deluded myself, I suppose." Fisk hitched Matt up, taking a better hold of his waist with his other arm, pressing Matt back against him. Matt's feet were left dangling inches from the ground, and he couldn't find the leverage to keep struggling. Warily, he let himself go limp. 

Fisk seemed pleased at this. 

"I knew you would see the futility of fighting me,” he said. Matt growled, but the effect was ruined by another coughing fit. "As I was saying, though- I entertained myself by thinking up ways to kill you. Do you want to know what I decided?"

Matt shook his head, or tried to, as much as he could with Fisk's forearm pressing against his throat. Fisk didn't seem to be fazed. 

"I decided that death would be too simple. Too quick. I want to make you suffer the way I have. I want to take away everything you've fought for- everything you've built- the people you care about-“ 

Matt let loose a roar and arched his body against Fisk’s, kicking his legs out to try to get away, to break Fisk's grip. But Fisk had anticipated it; his grip tightened around Matt’s neck and waist, pressing Matt’s back closer against him. 

"Stop," Fisk commanded, and to his horror, Matt did. "Good. That's what I want from you. I want you to understand how simple it will be for me to ruin your life. I could remove your ridiculous mask right now and find out who you are." He paused, letting that sink in. "But- listen closely, now- what I want from you tonight, is your respect."

Matt made a sound of disbelief in his throat, and Fisk laughed. "I know. But you'll understand soon enough."

There were still pieces of furniture left behind; Matt could sense a desk and office chair, a small armchair in the corner, and a folding table against the wall. Fisk walked backwards toward one of the armchairs to sit down, and Matt found himself suddenly sitting in his lap, his legs draped over the other man's knees. 

Matt put his arms out to catch his weight, trying to hold himself up with a hand on each arm rest. 

"What- what the hell?" he managed to choke out; Fisk's arm tightened slightly in warning.

"I am only going to say this once," Fisk said, voice deepening in warning. "Keep fighting me and you will regret it. I don't plan on killing you tonight- so if you would just cooperate, it will be easier for you."

"Why the hell would I believe that?" Matt said, finally finding his voice. It was hoarse, and he was pretty sure his neck was going to be bruised. That would be fun to explain to Foggy- if he got out of this alive. Matt squirmed, his arms straining to keep his body up and off of Fisk's lap as much as he could- damn the man for putting him in such an awkward position to begin with. 

"Because, I am a man of my word," Fisk responded, with feeling. "I can kill you right now. I can unmask you. But I give you my word that you will walk away from this, tonight, if you do as I say. It's as simple as that."

Well, Matt mused, bewildered, Fisk wasn't lying- his heart rate hadn't changed at all, still slightly faster than it should be, easily attributed to their fight, but evenly paced as he spoke. Maybe Fisk was just an expert liar, but Matt doubted that. A man as awkward as Wilson Fisk? No. Even Stick wasn't that good.

"What do you want, then?" Matt gritted out. He was unwilling to play along, but he didn't see any other choice. That Fisk was touching him at all was hard enough to bear- what exactly could he have in mind? Considering Matt was practically sitting in his lap, it probably wasn't good. 

"I already told you. Respect." Fisk shifted Matt's legs so they both fell to one side, over his right thigh, then loosened the arm around his neck. Matt saw his chance and lunged forward, only to be caught again by one meaty hand on back of his neck. He was turned and forced face-down, his chest pressed to Fisk's thighs and his feet touching the ground, effectively draping him over Fisk’s lap with his back exposed. 

Matt immediately pressed his hands against Fisk’s knee, the closest thing he could grip to try to push himself up to his feet, but the hand on his neck tightened, and then- something moving fast, displacing the air- 

Matt cried out as Fisk's palm made contact with his ass, an audible smack that startled him just as much as the pain that registered a second later. He didn't get a chance to comprehend what was happening before the hand swatted him again, on the same cheek. 

"What the- agh!"

The hand paused long enough to cup his abused cheek, teasingly gentle, then squeezed. 

"I think this would be better with your pants off," Fisk murmured, calmly, like it wasn't unusual to be spanking a full grown man over his knee like he was disciplining a child. 

Respect, he had said. Jesus. 

"F-fuck you."

"Hmm," was the only response. Matt had a split second to brace before the hand fell onto his other cheek, and Fisk was putting his whole weight behind it, he must be- one hit and Matt could feel the blood rushing to the surface, capillaries breaking under the force. His ass was probably as red as his suit. 

Fisk hit him again, then again, alternating strikes with caresses, no warning given at all, no way to anticipate which it would be. Matt fought, briefly, before a particularly hard strike made him wail, his voice strangely unrecognizable to his ears. It couldn't be him making that sound. It couldn't be.

He was a panting mess when Fisk finally paused to rest his hand. He smoothed his palm up and down over the sore flesh, and it was too much even through the layer of his suit. Matt squirmed, and Fisk took a breath as his hand left Matt's ass. He braced for another blow, but it never came. 

Fisk was fumbling with something, and it took Matt an embarrassingly long time to realize he wasn't being held down; the hand on his neck was gone. But he didn't move, clutching Fisk's knee and gasping for air, his brain a screaming mess of sensory input that he just couldn't sort through. But the smell of arousal hit his nostrils hard enough to make him reel, and he realized Fisk had unbuttoned his own fly to draw out his cock, and it was way too close to Matt's face for comfort. He gagged, the smell enveloping him, and flinched away as Fisk's hand found his face, softly caressing, fingers catching on his stubble with a rasp that made Matt shudder. 

"Relax," Fisk rumbled, "I'm not going to make you suck it." Matt could hear the slick glide of flesh on flesh, the way Fisk was sighing in relief as he worked his cock. He was about to say something when Fisk shifted his weight again, switching hands- and then his right hand came back down with a resounding thwack, Matt crying out, startled.

Maybe it was the smell of Fisk's precum in his nose, salty and utterly wrong, that set him off- maybe it was the way Fisk's fingers groped occasionally between his ass cheeks, grazing his hole, sensitive even through the layer of clothing- but Matt realized he was hard, his cock straining uncomfortably in tightness of his suit. It took all of his will power not to rut against Fisk's leg, or reach down to touch himself. He refused to give Fisk that much.

“We can save that for next time," Fisk said between blows. "Tonight is about-" Another smack, and Matt whimpered, "-making you obey. Punishing you for what you've done to me." He stilled, and in the sudden silence, punctuated by Matt's uncontrolled gasps, he could hear Fisk jerking off again. It made his stomach turn- but at the same time, he couldn't stop his hips from moving, trying to find purchase against Fisk's leg, to find a little relief-

"No," Fisk said, and he grabbed Matt's waist, pulling him away. "You haven't earned that yet." 

"Please," Matt pleaded, before he could stop himself, voice broken. "Please, I need-"

"No," Fisk replied, firmly. "What did I tell you? Tell me why I'm doing this." He started massaging Matt's ass, rubbing slow, methodical circles that only served to draw out the pain. 

Matt tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. 

"Respect," he parroted back at Fisk, his voice strained. "Kind of a weird way to- go about it."

Fisk inhaled, then exhaled, and Matt could hear his heart racing, far too fast for a man his size. 

“Hmm. I don't think the lesson has made an impression yet," he mused, his grip tightening. 

Matt didn't get any more warning than that as the blows started up with renewed vigor. His ass was on fire, the armored layer of his suit doing nothing to protect him; it was designed to stop knives, not open palms. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. His whole world narrowed down on the sound of Fisk's hand moving through the air, the low grunts of effort emanating from the man's chest, the torturous smack of flesh on flesh as the palm connected. He found himself crying out with every hit now, tears streaming down his cheeks, and belatedly realized he was saying something in between gasps for air, a garbled, slurring mess.

His cock was leaving a wet stain on his pants and he needed relief, but Fisk kept moving him whenever he tried to rub against his leg, the bastard, he knew exactly what he was doing. Matt didn't want to play into his hands, but it was increasingly difficult to remember why, exactly- when he was aching, so hard, every nerve on fire and awake and wanting more-

"Please- please- oh god-" Matt moaned, and he couldn't help himself; he reached down to his belt, fingers stumbling, uncoordinated, trying to undo the buckle. He managed, somehow, half out of his mind, to hitch his pants down an inch before his arm was caught in a vice grip and pulled behind his back. 

"Not yet," Fisk said, twisting Matt's arm up even higher and drawing a grunt of pain from him. It was enough to draw him back to his senses, if only for a moment. He briefly took stock of the situation: bent over Fisk's knee, his ass raw and sore, his cock hard, and his dignity in tatters. He had a pretty good idea of what Fisk wanted from him, and it somehow didn't feel like such a concession anymore. 

"Please," he said, and drew in a breath. "I'll do- anything- let me-" he left off with a frustrated huff and thrust his hips, trying to find some friction, and for the first time Fisk let him. 

"I'll let you make it up to me," Fisk said, and released his arm. Matt had a moment's relief before those hands were back, hitching down his pants to his knees. He immediately tried to reach down to take himself in hand, but Fisk picked him up with an arm around his waist.

"What are you-" Matt started to protest- and then he found himself deposited in Fisk's lap again, his ass making contact with Fisk's dick. He hissed in pain and tried to push himself up and away, his ass so sore that any touch was torture. But no, Fisk had him right where he wanted him, apparently, because he gripped Matt by the thighs and pulled him back with a groan of pleasure. Fisk's cock slipped up between his cheeks, and shit, it was huge. The blunt head grazed past his hole as Fisk thrust and Matt jerked, alarmed. 

"You're not going to fuck me," he said, and despite his efforts it came out a little more plaintive than he'd been going for. 

"No," Fisk grunted in his ear, pushing Matt up again before pulling him back down to slide over his cock. Matt's legs were almost locked together, his pants bunched at his knees, and it occurred to him suddenly that he had let this happen. He shot his arms out to either side of Fisk's knees and tried to push up, but his hips were caught in a crushing grip he just couldn't fight. 

"It would be so easy, though," Fisk continued, softly. Matt could feel his breath on his ear and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. One of his hands shifted, running slowly up the side of his bruised ass, the thumb dipping inside the cleft to catch on his hole, prodding; Matt tensed, but the finger only circled it, massaging- and fuck if it didn't feel good. "I could open you up, get you ready for me. You would probably come just from a finger, wouldn't you?" He drew his hand away, and Matt could hear clearly the way Fisk licked his finger, the wet smack of lips. He still couldn't stop himself from flinching when it returned, this time pushing inside, just enough to tease.

Matt's hips snapped back of their own accord, driving the finger deeper, and he couldn't help it at all, the way his body was reacting without him. But it had been a while, hadn't it? He'd been too busy worrying about other things, Fisk included, to take time for himself- and despite what Foggy did or didn't believe, Matt wasn't exactly going out every night to get laid. That would have interfered with the whole crime-fighting thing, but it had been a good cover while it lasted. But this- Matt had never even considered fingering himself- blame that on his Catholic school education- but it felt amazing, despite who the finger was actually attached to. It wasn't painful, staying on just this side of slightly uncomfortable, not quite slick enough to slide without burning, but it was still good. He wanted more.

He heard himself moaning, but it was distant, unreal. Then, all too soon, it was over- Fisk pulled his finger out and took a fierce hold on his hips again, and then his cock was being thrust between Matt's thighs. 

"Clench your legs," Fisk said, sounding winded, and Matt complied. It felt weird- being pulled down as though he were being fucked, bouncing on Fisk's lap in a steady rhythm- but it didn't hurt. He arched his hips slightly and Fisk gasped, and wasn't that a weird sound. 

"Good, good boy," Fisk breathed.

Oh- that was- Matt tried to reach for his own cock, fingers trembling, but Fisk caught his wrist. 

"I said you haven't earned this yet," Fisk reminded him. "I want to hear it."

"Please," Matt whined, but Fisk's grip didn't loosen. Then- he swallowed. Well, pride was a sin, anyway, right? He just hoped his priest never got wind of this. "I'm sorry," he said, and once he'd managed to force it out it got easier. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please," he gasped, in time with Fisk's thrusts, and finally- finally- Fisk reached around his hip and gripped his cock, squeezed-

That was all it took. 

Matt came back to himself a moment later, still panting, and realized he was no longer in Fisk's lap. The other man had set him down on the chair at some point, and his legs were splayed bonelessly over the armrest, still caught in the tangle of his trousers. He reached up to make sure the mask was still in place. It was. His hands groped down over his stomach and he grimaced at the sticky mess, but there was nothing for it- he d have to worry about cleanup later. He pulled his pants up and fumbled with the buckle, got it closed, and dragged himself up to his feet. 

"I'm not entirely convinced," Fisk said, breaking the silence. Matt jumped, then caught himself, belatedly remembering to turn his head in Fisk's direction. "That you learned your lesson."

Matt swallowed. His ass was still sore- probably would be for days, at this rate- and he wasn't sure he was willing to go through that again. It wasn't the humiliation, though he was sure that had been Fisk's real purpose. He could deal with that. It was everything else- actually wanting to be touched, to be abused like that- there was no point in lying to himself. He had wanted it. He had wanted Fisk- 

Fisk took a step toward him and Matt stumbled back, nearly running into the chair. 

"This is your only warning. Interfere with my business again, and the punishment will be more, severe, next time."

And then Fisk was walking past him, out of the room and down the hallway, his pace unhurried, like he knew he wouldn't be followed. Matt staggered to the window and hoisted it open, grimacing as the wet spot made contact with the cool air. The sounds of the city filtered back to him, suddenly overwhelming. It was going to be a long trip home.


End file.
